


A Change in Principles

by K4t3yK4t



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Parenthood, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-29
Updated: 2015-11-29
Packaged: 2018-05-04 01:46:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5315654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/K4t3yK4t/pseuds/K4t3yK4t
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He hadn't expected things to end up like this. Of course, there had been signs, and of course, they'd planned for it, but he had never expected anything like this to happen. Not to him. He feels rooted; an immobilization worse than any command had ever caused, worse than seeing Hawke nearly die, worse, so much worse. And yet...</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Change in Principles

**Author's Note:**

> Dragon Age 2 and all associated characters do not belong to me. They are property of © Bioware 2015

He hadn't expected things to end up like this. Of course, there had been signs, and of course, they'd planned for it, but he had never expected anything like this to happen. Not to _him_. He feels rooted; an immobilization worse than any command had ever caused, worse than seeing Hawke nearly die, worse, so much worse. And yet...

“You're sure?” The words passed his lips before he could catch them. The grim smile on Hawke's face, the slight quirk of her lips that suggests she wants to make a joke, but knows it isn't the time.

“Yeah, I'm sure.” Her voice was softer than it usually was, as if raising it any higher would make things real. He was still frozen, and he could tell from Hawke's expression that his unresponsiveness was starting to worry her. “Fenris?”

His name on her lips broke him from his trance, and in two short strides, he caught her up in his arms, his face buried against her shoulder. Her initial gasp of surprise – still surprised, after all this time, though how could he blame her? -- transformed into a soft sigh. Her arms came up, holding him just as fiercely, and he could tell she was controlling her breathing. A second later, he realized that she was crying.

“Hawke...” He held her closer, but didn't know what to say. Words, he wasn't good with _words_. How do you comfort someone in this situation? Do you even have to? He didn't know what to do with this. He had seen it before, obviously, in Tervinter. The slaves had no choice, but... But Hawke, _his_ Hawke...

“Fenris, how... Maker how are we going to do this?” Her voice was quiet, and at once, Fenris didn't like it. Something inside him clicked, and he cupped her cheek, looking into those luminous eyes. This was protecting Hawke. _This_ he knew how to do, and it came to him as easily as breathing.

“We will endure,” He murmured to her, each word hanging between them. “As in anything else we've faced, we will endure.” He held Hawke's gaze until her resolve steeled it.

“Yeah... We will.”

* * *

Fenris approached the mansion, still nervous. It had taken him weeks to find what he had been looking for, but now that he had it, he was unsure that Hawke would want it.

These past few months had been daunting for both of them. She stayed at home, now, despite her protests. Wandering Kirkwall in her state was dangerous. Fenris had been adamant, and had been both surprised and grateful when both Aveline and Varric had agreed with him. They were a constant presence in the mansion now, along with Carver, who had received leave from the Knight-Captain to come tend to his sister.

Hawke complained that being cooped up in the house would ultimately kill her faster than wandering High Town. They had, eventually, let her go out, with Aveline and Varric at her side and Carver, when Fenris could not be. She was restricted to High Town, but only during the day. But being the Champion of Kirkwall had its detriments; she was soon sequestered once again, after an over-eager member of the Carta had tried for her life. Fenris hadn't been able to sleep for a week after, despite Hawke being safely curled against him each night.

It was nearly time now, according to the books he'd borrowed. What he could not read himself, he went to Varric for explanation. At first, the dwarf had been entertained, but he had eventually acquiesced, reading tome after tome aloud while Fenris paced, pausing only to ask further questions.

“I don't have the answers to everything, Broody. Maybe we should find a specialist. I would suggest Blondie, but-”

“I will not have that mage near...” Fenris' immediate response, a knee-jerk reaction that had lyrium singing through his veins. Varric had held up a hand.  
  
“Even if you would, elf, he's too far away to be of any help anyway.”  
  
So Fenris had sought help. Sought whomever he could find to be knowledgable on the subject. Carver had grudgingly suggested a few Chantry Sisters who dealt with this sort of thing regularly, but Fenris felt uncomfortable near the new Chantry. He put off asking them until the last, though they had been kind and informative. One, a Sister Mariella, had offered to come check on Hawke in a soft voice, watching him with kind, understanding eyes. He had gruffly declined, and stormed away before she could respond.

He had then gone to the Alienage, searching for, perhaps, some elf-remedy. Despite her destestability, Merrill had been a well of information and support. She provided a Dalish perspective, and had directed him toward some of the older City Elves who had experience with this.... Situation.

It was from her he had received the charm.

“Give it a go,” She said, sliding it across the table to him when he had visited her, “It couldn't hurt, could it? I promise, I didn't use any magic; just Elvhen prayers.” She had added hurriedly, seeing dark suspicion cross his face.

Fenris squeezed the charm in his fist, feeling the swirling carvings press against his palm. Steeling himself, he stepped into the foyer, barely hearing Bodhan's greeting. He has been here so often, now, that he did not even need to think before turning into the study. Hawke is sitting on a couch in front of the fireplace, reading one of Varric's new books.

“Hey,” She smiles when she sees him, and struggles to get up. He crosses the room to her so she does not have to. Hawke issues a soft, annoyed huff and sits back down. “I'm not that fragile, you know.” She looks so different now, Fenris thinks, examining not for the first time, the dark rings beneath her eyes from lack of sleep and the slightly pinched look of pain from now-constant backaches. Her skin luminous in the firelight, covered as it is by the house coat that strains slightly as it stretches across her swollen midsection.

“You are the least fragile person I know.” He replies, a smile tugging at his lips. “Here,” He says without preamble, and pushes the charm into Hawke's hand. She brings it closer to examine it in the firelight.

“It's beautiful, Fenris, but what is it?” She asks, unaccustomed to receiving gifts of any sort from him. Fenris fidgets with the red sash around his vambrace, now ratty and worn from use. The words lodge in his throat, and it takes far too long for him to get them out. When he does, he cannot look at her, so instead, he stares down.

“It is a Dalish charm... Merril made it for you.” He begins awkwardly, glancing up at her through a fringe of white hair. “It is... To ensure an easy delivery.” He watches her expression change from surprise to the tenderness she shows only him. The kind that makes his heart beat faster than any battle ever could.

“Thank you, Fenris.” Her tone is gentle, and soothes his nervousness like a balm. He eases closer, lifting her legs so he may sit under them and commence his usual evening routine of massaging her feet. However, this time... Something is not right. When he moves her, Hawke makes a sharp gasping sound and her hands fly to her stomach. Fenris watches, horrified, as the surface of her stomach _moves_ , still holding her ankles in his hands.

“Fenris it's coming!” She gasps, and his mind goes utterly blank. It's coming. _It_ is coming. Blood pounds in his ears and he sets her feet down, fleeing the room. “Fenris!!” Her voice breaks as the next contraction hits.

He returns to the foyer, breathing heavily. At once, the dwarf in Hawke's employ is at his side, and in a clipped tone, Fenris sends him to fetch the midwife. Turning now to the mabari, who had followed him from Hawke's side, he tells it to retrieve Aveline and Carver and Varric, and knows it will be done. That done, he enters the kitchen, seeking bowls, rags, anything he can.

“Mas-- Fenris...” Oriella, the girl whom Hawke had saved from slavery. “Go be with her, I will bring it.” She smiles, bracingly, and Fenris drops everything, returning to Hawke.

“I... I thought you left.” Hawke panted, as he crosses the room again, kneeling beside her and carefully scooping her up. 

“No... I will not run from this.” He carries her to her room, laying her on the bed and staying beside her.  

* * *

He has never felt so helpless. Not even when Hawke fought the Arishok alone did he feel this helpless. Each of her screams brands him more deeply than the lyrium ever could. He cannot keep still, pacing outside Hawke's bedroom with Varric and Carver standing nearby. None of them talk. Nothing can be said. They simply wait, while candles flicker and die, and the world grows dark around them.

Finally, as the fingers of dawn caress the inky sky, the screaming stops. Varric and Carver retired downstairs hours ago, saying something about food and sleep. Only Fenris remained in the hallway. He lifts his head, and the silence stretches out long enough to make his skin itch. Unable to take it any longer, he reaches for the door handle. Just as his hand meets the cool brass, another scream fills the dawn air, and Fenris nearly staggers with the relief that hits him. The door knob turns in his hand and Aveline appears on the other side, looking tired but satisfied.

“Come and meet your son, Fenris.”

He is shaking as he steps into the room. Hawke is sitting up in bed, and in her arms is a small bundle. The look on her face when the sees him is breathtaking: equal parts triumphant and proud, her eyes crackling like the electricity she so often wields. Fenris crosses the room, entranced, and comes up beside her.

The child is perfect. Tiny hands clenched into fists, currently tucked up under his chin as he sleeps, exhausted from the journey. Rosebud lips move as he sleeps in imitation of suckling, his head already turning toward his mother's warmth. Black hair covers the babe's head, curling every which way and half-hiding his tiny, pointed ears.

“He looks like you,” Fenris hears himself saying. Hawke chuckles, and it is a weary sound. Fenris wordlessly slips into bed beside her, and she is asleep against his chest before he can properly encircle her in his arms. He smiles, and settles with them both in his arms, finally able to sleep.

* * *

The first time the boy performs magic, he is two years old. Fenris finds Hawke with him at a flaming merchant's stall in Lowtown. The merchant is gesturing wildly, screaming to anyone who will listen about the devastation wrought by mages and how this child should be put to death like the rest of them. Hawke is trying to calm him, telling him and the growing crowd that it was an accident, even going so far as to quench the flames before they destroy everything. The merchant does not listen to a word, threatening to call upon the Templars.

Fenris' vision goes red and the lyrium in his veins quickens, tearing through him and fuelling his fury. Before he truly knows what has happened, he is between his family and the merchant, and his hand is around the human's throat. The merchant sputters and chokes, though his threats have ceased, and that was the goal. Fenris throws him into the smoking wreckage of his stall and turns, hard-eyed, toward Hawke.

She stares back unsure, and is still cradling their son against her, as if trying to hide him from the cruelty of others for just a little longer. The boy sniffles, staring wide-eyed at Fenris, and for a moment, he can see all too easily a future without them in it, for their own safety. He has never been a friend to mages.

“Daddy...”

His son reaches for him, and things become clear once more. He takes the boy into his arms and holds him close, glaring at the crowd and silently daring any of them to protest. None do. Hawke comes to his side and sighs, rubbing the heel of her palm against her eye.

“Are you alright?”  
  
“I'm sorry, Fenris.” The apology strikes him off guard, and he pauses, frowning.

“What?” He watches Hawke look up at him, and the tension in her gaze cuts at him.

“I should have warned you that he could be a mage. I'm sorry.” Fenris looks down at the child in his arms. _His_ child. _His son_ , a mage. The Maker certainly has a sense of humour. The boy looks up at him with wide eyes, trying to determine by his expression whether or not he is in trouble. Fenris stares back, pensive, until finally he smiles and presses a kiss to his little forehead. The boy smiles in relief and snuggles into his chest, and Fenris' heart aches with love for him.

“It is no matter. He will have an excellent teacher.” He returns his gaze to Hawke, and the relief that floods her face washes him as well. They will be alright. He will make sure of it.

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to try and make this after defending this post on Tumblr: http://fawxdraws.tumblr.com/post/134210790833/whatthefawxblogs-k4t3yk4t-fawxdraws. 
> 
> Granted this is a little basic and doesn’t take into account much of Fenris’ trauma, but… Fluff! I tried to make Hawke and the kid as description-less (and in the kid's case, nameless) as possible, because I wanted the reader to be able to insert their own Fem!Hawke into the situation, and choose their own names, etc.


End file.
